Page 93 of When We Crash

“What do you have to tell me?”

I saw her face morph into one of fear as she tried to see if the hall was empty and beckoned me closer. Dexter stood with his phone to his ear, and I knew I’d have to deal with this on my own. I inched closer and she began to speak.

“They’re going to find out,” she whispered in Spanish, because she was going to tell me something no one else should hear. “I…I fell asleep. The cigarette—let me come live with you. I promise I’ll stop. I’ll be better.” She clutched at my hands, and I yanked them out of her grip.

“You killed Tim.” I stepped back, shaking my head. “And you want me to, what, save you? They’re going to find out, and when they do, you’re going to prison. Fortwodeaths.”

She glared at me, her lips quivering under her anger. “There you go again, thinking you’re better. You, the only person your father ever loved. Tell me, did you fuck him, too? I saw the way he looked at you. Is that why he left?” She sat with her smug little face like she solved something and her sickly skin that made her look older than she was. Made her look like my demons personified.

Wasn’t she, after all? And while I felt sorry for her, my rage bubbled over.

“You are vile and disgusting. It should’ve beenyou!” I screamed. “It should’ve been you!” Thick arms banded around me, and there was a bustle of people. Still, I pointed at her through the bodies, repeating the words over and over until Dexter spun me and hugged me against him. Only when we were outside did I stop. “She killed Tim,” I sobbed.

If I had thought coming back would be a good idea, I deserved to face this backlash. Tim had bought me a one-way ticket for a reason.

“Let’s go down to the police station,” Dexter said, pulling me toward the minivan.

I couldn’t stop crying. It seemed like it was all I did. My whole life was a series of tears and heartache.

“Why did it have to be him?” I asked myself aloud as Dexter buckled me in.

His silent frown was all I got out of him. That was the question millions of people asked and never got the answer to.

Still.

It should’ve been her.

Noa

A few hours later,I was in Dexter’s old bedroom again. I lay on his bare chest, looking at the ceiling. The police had taken my statement and my tears had subsided.

“How’s Phoebe?” I asked.

He cleared his throat. “Actually, she’s flying in tomorrow with Rachel. I didn’t want to bring it up before with everything going on. I hope that doesn’t bother you. Rachel will be staying at her parents’ house with Phoebe.”

I thought it over for a moment. I wasn’t afraid of Rachel as a woman; I was nervous to be faced with her as a mother. That momentary jealousy seized me, and I knew, without a doubt, that I’d be protective over my child. And although Phoebe wasn’t Dexter’s biological child, he certainly loved her like she was. Which meant Rachel could make this difficult.

“It doesn’t. But aren’t you worried she’ll resent me?” I felt like it was a legitimate concern. I had no idea what they’d shared but I knew that, at the end of the day, Dexter had left her for me. Whether it’d been years or days, he ultimately left her in the hopes of finding me again. And that had to hurt.

“I don’t think so. Rachel isn’t like that. And she’s always said nice things about you.”

I snorted at his naïveté.

He laughed. “What?”

“If she had terrible things to say, she wouldn’t say them to you, smarty pants. You’re not exactly unbiased.”

“True,” he said, hugging me closer. “It’s no secret that I’m still in love with you. Always have been. Always will be.”

“Keep saying things like that and you’ll be stuck with me,” I said. I was getting used to his presence, despite myself. I was already thinking of him in my future. Dexter wasn’t a momentary fixture. He was in my life for good, it seemed.

“That’s the goal here,” he said. He fell asleep with me in his arms.

While the details of the day circled over and over in my head, I turned toward him and closed my eyes. Already, I was better than I had been. Tolstoy had nothing on us.

* * *

I woketo the sound of light feet pattering outside the bedroom until the door creaked open.

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